


Wavefunction Collapse

by onvavoir



Series: Teumessian Fox [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who exactly is James Buchanan Barnes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wavefunction Collapse

**Author's Note:**

> In which two versions of the story converge and the author fudges Marvel Sliding Timelines™.

If nothing else, Matt can always count on work to distract him. They still have to work from sun up to sunset to keep the lights on, but they've won a few important cases, enough to get by. Foggy's now on the DA's radar as an up and comer. Karen's been researching law schools when she thinks Foggy isn't paying attention. There's always something to do, some new crisis, especially in the New York they live in now.

Matt holds out for three days, and then he allows himself a simple web search.

_James Buchanan Barnes_

He's not terribly surprised to find thousands of results. He picks the first one and tells himself that he'll just read the first paragraph, just see what it says. His fingertips scan the text as the reader recites it into his ear. 

_... better known as "Bucky" Barnes, was the childhood friend of Steve Rogers._

Steve Rogers. That's where he's heard the name before. An echo, a friend of an acquaintance of a friend of someone's. He should have remembered. But what would he have done? His stomach pulls itself into a tight ball. 

_In 1942, he was assigned to the 107th Infantry. Most of Barnes's unit was captured by Hydra in 1943 and declared Missing in Action by the US government._

Matt's hands halt, then go on reading. His concentration fades in and out as his eyebrows draw together, listening to the story of how Bucky Barnes made it out of a Hydra facility alive, only to go right back into combat alongside his friend.

"Matt?"

He blinks. Across the room Karen is watching him. Her heart beats a little faster.

"What?" 

"You were shaking your head. Everything all right?"

He hesitates. "Yeah. Fine. I was just... caught up in what I'm reading."

He gives her a little smile and goes back to the article. It's a good thing for him that he doesn't have to look her in the eye.

_... Rogers and the Commandos staged a daring attack on a HYDRA supply train. In the course of the skirmish, Barnes was attacked and fell to his death. His body was never recovered._

He stops it. Goes back and rereads those few lines. There's a little after that, some stuff about posthumous military honors and the Smithsonian. Matt's not really paying attention by that point. 

His first thought is _that's not possible_. That was... 1940-something. Bucky Barnes would be... old. Matt's fingers rattle across the keyboard, through the databases he thinks most likely to give him the information he wants: Barnes's serial number. He can't quite remember the one Bucky recited. 3557 something. He hunts down declassified files, pores over scans of faxes and mimeographs that are little more than gibberish in his ear. Time he should be spending on cases. Finally he tracks it down. 32557038. His lips silently form the numbers. That's the number Bucky gave him, he's sure of it. He wonders idly about Bucky's relationship with Steve Rogers and then feels abruptly ashamed of himself.

He worries his lip. What now? There would seem to be two possibilities: either the man he knows-- the man who attacked Steve Rogers-- _thinks_ he's Bucky Barnes, or he _is_ Bucky Barnes. Matt considers how strange life has become, that either one sounds equally plausible.

***

Matt loosens his tie on the way to the bar, takes it off and stuffs it into his pocket. It's a little more crowded tonight, unfamiliar sounds and scents mixed in, and he stops at the door. He cocks his head. 

Someone is on a roof opposite. Quiet, but even the stealthiest person has to breathe. Matt steps aside as a trio of men walk out, one of them very drunk. He turns and extends his cane, taps his way down the sidewalk towards home. Thirty minutes and four double-backs later, he walks down a dead-end street, one he knows is deserted except for three rats and a feral cat stalking them. He stops to rest his hands on the cane's handle.

"You should know, I'm a very difficult person to sneak up on."

Only the sounds of the city, a squeak of dismay and the crunch of bone. He shivers a little. Waits.

"I'm alone, if that's what you're worried about."

Someone's quiet tread creeps down a fire escape on his left. He waits, still and patient, as the faint whine of electronics gets louder. Bucky's heart is racing. He's armed. Heavily. Matt considers making a crack and thinks better of it. He waits for Bucky to get close enough for them to speak without shouting.

"You shouldn't be here," Bucky says.

His voice is barely above a whisper.

"I didn't know what else to do."

No one speaks for a long sequence of moments.

"I'm sorry, Bucky."

"For what?"

A rising edge to his voice and a quickening of his pulse-- he's afraid Matt's told someone.

"For everything that's happened to you. It wasn't your fault."

Maybe Bucky hears the rasp in his voice, maybe he doesn't. Matt takes a step towards him, and Bucky takes a corresponding step back. His hand-- the robotic one-- hovers at his hip, where there must be a knife tucked into a pocket. Matt feels like it's been jammed into his sternum already. He holds up a hand.

"You don't know," Bucky says, and his voice is heavy with the fatigue that comes from constantly being on the run. Matt knows that weight all too well.

"I know-- I know that no matter what happened to you, you're still a human being."

His voice breaks a little. He swallows the constriction in his throat, wills it down to the place where he keeps everything he can't let himself feel. Bucky is motionless, only breathing and heartbeat and the weapons he's surrounded himself with.

Matt holds out his hand. It hangs there, touching nothing but air tinged with garbage. Bucky lets out a breath he's been holding. Matt won't allow himself believe Bucky's moving towards him, not until Bucky's hand grasps his. He breathes again. His other hand feels its way up Bucky's arm, not out of necessity but to reassure him that this is real. It comes to rest on Bucky's shoulder. He doesn't dare move any closer. Another moment stretches taut between them.

The metal arm whines and closes around his shoulders, pulling him in. Matt breathes him, soap and traces of a crummy Chinese takeout, a beer earlier in the evening, and the base note that's just the scent of Bucky. He doesn't know what they'll do, has no idea how to handle this, and if he's honest with himself, he'll probably find a way to fuck it up. But he has Bucky, and for the moment that's enough.


End file.
